


Tell Me The Tale

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know what they say about curiosity and the cat.  Elrohir is curious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Curiosity is Peaked

“No, no, no,” Erestor said, his frustration obvious in the tone of his voice as he ran a long-fingered pale hand through tangling strands of black. “Lindir cannot be spared from the Guild; he shows too much promise to be forced into the Guard this season.”

“He is young,” Glorfindel persisted. “He must see all the options open to him; it is only a year, not nearly long enough if you ask me. He must fulfill his obligations—”

“And he will,” Erestor argued, glaring at the paper-strewn desk between them. “But not this season. He is not meant for the sword.”

“And still he must learn to wield it.”

“I do not deny it,” Erestor agreed, “But he is young and the molding of his make as a musician is at stake! The Guild is willing to overlook his responsibilities and postpone them, if only you would agree to do so!”

Glorfindel sighed, running his own hand through golden tresses that were beginning to snarl as well, after being thusly abused all the day long. “Let us talk of Dinendal.”

“Fine,” Erestor spit out, trading several papers over. “Dinendal is not working hard enough.”

“That is because his interest does not lay in books. Give him to the Guard and he will prosper.”

“I will trade Lindir’s place in the Guard for Dinendal’s.”   
Glorfindel glared, disbelieving blue eyes meeting determined black. They were, for a moment, silent. “That is hardly fair, Erestor.”

Erestor waved his left hand, the mithril ring flashing in the candlelight. “That is a generous offer,” he corrected.

“The two situations hardly compare,” Glorfindel readily argued, sitting forward in his seat. “Dinendal is young yet and has many more services to undergo. Lindir has but his place in the Guard to complete; if I let Lindir loose to the Guild, I shall never hear the end of it. The precedent we are setting—”

“The only precedent we are setting,” Erestor growled, leaning toward the desk, “is one in which you place the value of pure talent in its rightful place. Have you heard him?”

Glorfindel sat back in his seat, his head wearily falling into his hand as his elbow rested on the arm of the wooden chair. He sighed. “I have heard the beauty that is Lindir’s skill and talent. You are right,” he agreed, his head falling back to the chair. “Let the Guild have him. If Dinendal joins the Guard, we are even.”

“Agreed.”

Someone let out a breath of heavy air.

Glorfindel and Erestor turned to Elrohir, all but having forgotten his presence.

“I am sorry, Elrohir,” Erestor said kindly. “You must be hungry, and weary as well. We have kept you overlong. Go seek your dinner and do not return this night. We shall start anew in the morning.”

Elrohir stood, stretching weary limbs. “You need not let me go at once, my lords. I can remain yet a little longer; I know there is much to do. Besides, tomorrow is the Equinox and—”

“Don’t be silly,” Glorfindel told him, a false smile in place at the mention of the holiday. “Go, Elrohir,” he ordered with a truer grin. “And we shall see you on the morrow.”

Elrohir nodded thankfully and placed the notes of his labors on the long desk. “Good night,” he wished them before closing the door behind him.

“He is a good lad,” Erestor thoughtlessly said.

“Aye,” Glorfindel agreed. “And much like his father. Shall we continue?”

Erestor nodded and they began rearranging the duty roster for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Perhaps it was.

***

Elrohir moved at speed toward the kitchens. A golden head of hair flashed in the distance. He halted. “Legolas?!”  
 The Prince turned. “Elrohir!”

They ran to one another and embraced in the hall. Elrohir pulled back, grasping Legolas’s silver-clad shoulders. “I did not know you were in Imladris!”

“It was a bit of a surprise,” Legolas admitted. “I requested something of a vacation from my duties at home and found myself here after several weeks of wandering, and just in time for Spring Equinox as well. Your sister told me that the lords Glorfindel and Erestor had you sequestered away the whole of the week doing work!”

“They are not so bad as all that,” Elrohir good-naturedly argued. “They have just released me and I was on my way to the kitchens.”

“I shall accompany you,” Legolas offered, and they continued down the open corridor.

***

In the morning, Elrohir joined his family for breakfast at the large table in the parlor just off the main dining room. He sat between his siblings with Legolas beside Elladan and Arwen seated next to her mother. Elrond and Celebrian sat at the head of the table with Glorfindel seated beside his Lord and Erestor between Legolas and Glorfindel.

Arwen and her mother talked secretly about some feminine things no doubt as Elrond contemplated his plate. He never had been a morning person. Elladan and Legolas were content in some discussion about arms, but Elrohir watched his tutors curiously.

“Please pass the butter.”

Glorfindel shoved the butter dish at Erestor, who viciously severed a slice of the yellow cream to smear on his bread.

“May I have the salt?”

Erestor thrust the saltshaker at the golden lord, who grabbed it up and shook it vigorously over his eggs.

Elrohir shook his head and ate his breakfast.

***

Elrohir knocked at Erestor’s office. He was neither early nor late, so was surprised when there was no answer. “Erestor?” he called, knocking again. He tapped his foot impatiently, a frightful idiosyncrasy he’d picked up from his younger sister. Finally, he just opened the door and peeped within.

Hmm.

No Erestor. No Glorfindel.

Elrohir shut the door.

He stood a moment in thought before finally making up his mind and setting off down the hall. Erestor’s and Glorfindel’s rooms were placed one next to the other in the north wing of the house and he reached the golden Lord’s first. He knocked upon the door.

No answer. “This is getting tiresome,” he muttered to himself.

He proceeded to Erestor’s rooms and knocked.

Shuffling noises sounded beyond the strong oak door.

“Erestor?”

The door opened a crack and the dark-haired Elf peered through. “Yes, Elrohir?”

Elrond’s son raised an eyebrow in unconscious imitation of his father. “I thought we had work to do today?”

“Yes well,” Erestor flushed and looked away. “I . . . Lord Glorfindel and I agreed it might be better to postpone the completion of the rosters. Tomorrow will be little later than today. I had forgotten you were to help us . . . Oh, Elrohir, I am sorry. Come in.” The flustered counselor stepped back, folding the lapels of his robes back in a self-conscious gesture that Elrohir was all too familiar with, the remarkable ring on his finger flashing in the light, remarkable only because it was the solitary piece of adornment ever worn by the sedate councilor, aside from his pendant of office, which he only wore on the most formal of occasions.

“Why are you nervous, Erestor?”

“Nervous? What? I’m not . . .”

Elrohir sat in a spare chair and pointed to Erestor’s robes. “You’re fiddling with your lapels again, Erestor.”

“Oh.” The usually contained counselor froze. “Well.”

“It is Spring Equinox today,” Elrohir pointed out. “You always did get more frazzled this time of year.”

“Frazzled?”

Elrohir grinned. “The Valar know why,” Elrohir said. “Your hair is half undone and your robes are wrinkled. You and Glorfindel, you two always get tetchy with one another round Spring Equinox.”

Erestor’s eyes were wide.

Elrohir seemed a little taken aback. “Certainly I’m not the only one who’s noticed it. And I consider myself better than to gossip about it as some people do.”

“Gossip?” Erestor thoughtlessly echoed. “What do they say?”

Elrohir laughed and blushed and looked away.

“What do they say?” Erestor repeated, in an authoritative tone of voice.

A nervous laugh answered him. “They say it is a lover’s quarrel, that you two are affected by the Spring madness. But I know better.”

“Oh, do you?” Erestor inquired.

“Surely you would have informed your closest friends if you were in such a relationship. There is much affection between you even if you do not show it, but there is nothing of passion in it. At least, not that I can see. Erestor?”

The Chief Counselor looked to the window. His eyes were large, his pale face framed by a riotous snarl of black.

“Counselor Erestor?”

“In Lorien, the petals are falling.”

The young Peredhel wondered at his tutor. “I have witnessed the famed Blossom Drop,” Elrohir softly answered the murmur.

“In days of old,” Erestor continued in little more than a whisper, “the mellyrn lined the shore of the sea from Lhun to Forochel, and on the day of Equinox the trees would weep, and the mallorn blossoms would fall to the earth in a day of beauty unknown to any but the Elves.”

“It must have been breathtaking,” Elrohir muttered.

Erestor still looked to the window. “It was.”

In a moment of silence the only sounds to be heard were the birds outside the window.  
 Elrohir fidgeted in his seat.

“We shall do no work today. Go outside, Elrohir, and revel in the beauty of the day, such as it is.”

“It is marvelous wonderful outdoors,” Elrohir agreed. “Will you not grace me with your company?”

“Not this day.”

“What haunts you, Erestor?”

Finally, those dark eyes turned to him, troubled and full of sorrow. “Have they truly all forgotten?” Erestor asked.

“Forgotten what?”

“Ask Lord Glorfindel. Mayhap he has the strength to speak of it, for I do not.”

Confused at his words and troubled by the pain in Erestor’s eyes, Elrohir stood and nodded and turned to leave. But then he halted. “Do you know where I would find the Captain of Imladris?”

“He is not in his rooms?” Erestor asked, seeming only half-awake as he gazed into nothingness.

“There was no answer at the door.”

Erestor suddenly strode across the room to push aside what Elrohir had always taken to be a decorative tapestry. All this time, it had concealed a door. He spoke before he thought. “Your rooms are connected to Glorfindel’s?”

Erestor did not answer, but opened the door and pushed away the curtain on the other side. “My Lord?” He stepped back. “You are right; he is gone.” Erestor shook his head, closing and hiding the door once more. “The gardens,” he said after a moment’s thought. “He will have gone to the gardens.”

***

Elrohir paced the flowering paths of Imladris as a man on a mission. But nowhere could he find the golden tresses of the tall Elf whom he sought. Finally, he gave up on his search and his feet led him to the orchards where flowering tree stood before flowering tree.

The fruits had only just begun to bud, and many blossoms still adorned the trees: orange and pear and apple and peach. And a booted foot swinging in the air.

Elrohir approached the brown boot, swinging from the branch of a tall pear tree. He stopped and looked up. “Well hello there, Glorfindel. And here I had thought I would not find you this day.”

“You were searching for me, young one?” the old Lord asked.

“Indeed,” Elrohir agreed, scaling the limbs of the tree to seat himself beside his old mentor. “You see, I had thought we were to continue our work this morning. Once I found Erestor and he told me I was mistaken, I was more than content to laze the day away. But you see, I could not help but notice that Erestor seemed a bit distraught. He and I talked a bit.”

“About what?” Glorfindel asked when Elrohir stopped talking.

“Oh you know,” the young Peredhel dithered, picking absently at the loose bark of a branch. “This and that. Spring Equinox. Mallorn blossoms. Gossip.”

Glorfindel’s whole demeanor changed. He sat up tall and proud, and Elrohir was suddenly impressed in this rare moment of clarity of what Glorfindel was, who he used to be, and what he was capable of. The sun glinted in sky-blue eyes. “What did he tell you?” Glorfindel demanded, his voice husky.

Elrohir blinked. “Nothing. He told me to ask you.”

Looking away, Glorfindel ran both hands through his hair and then clasped them before him, twisting the silver bands on his fingers in his personal peculiarity indicative of nervousness. “Ask me what?”

“Why it is that you and he develop this itchy sort of regard for one another when you seem to get along well enough the rest of the year.”

“Go ask your father,” Glorfindel said. “Elrond and Legolas can tell you all you might want to know. I have not the strength to speak of it.”

Elrohir watched wide-eyed as Glorfindel dropped gracefully from the tree like a huge cat to saunter off between the orchard trees.

***

Elrohir sat in the chair, his simple tunic princely enough in the fabric and design, but seated across from Elrond and Legolas, he felt very small.

Elrond was truly a lord of his people, with stars on his brow, his dark hair a free cascade, in robes of silvery gray. And Legolas always looked princely, as he did now with flaxen gold locks straight and proud over his green-clad shoulders. His smile was beautiful.

“What did you want to speak of, my son?”

Elrohir startled, looking at his father, whose voice was a low rumble like the ocean. “It’s my tutors, Glorfindel and Erestor. The way they behave around one another this time of year.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, they . . . are different. They forgot about my work this morning; neither of them will work today, and neither would tell me why.”

Legolas leaned forward curiously. “What did they tell you?”

“They avoided my questions. Erestor told me to ask Glorfindel. And Glorfindel told me to ask you. Why? Why are they like this?”

Elrond and Legolas exchanged a knowing look.

Elrond looked to his son and leaned forward in his seat as if sharing the most intimate of secrets. “Today is their anniversary.”

“Anniversary of what?”

Legolas smiled gently. “Their wedding.”

Elrohir blinked. “Excuse me?”

Elrond and Legolas grinned at one another, but the expressions were not wholly of joy. “What say you, Legolas?” asked the half-Elven Lord. “Do we know enough to piece together the telling of this story?”

Legolas looked at Elrohir. “I should say we do. We do at that.”


	2. The Tale of Old

Elrond smiled dubiously. “Today’s the big day, then.”

Glorfindel grimaced. “You needn’t play a false cheer on my account.”

The remnants of Elrond’s smile fell away. “Weddings are generally looked upon with some degree of delight,” he rumbled in his deep baritone.

“Love matches, you mean,” Glorfindel replied, again turning to his reflection in the looking glass to fuss with the overly complex ties of the formal robes. “White . . .” he grumbled under his breath.

“They are ‘ivory,’” Elrond corrected, gently grasping Glorfindel’s ivory-clad shoulder and coming round to meet him face to face. “Allow me.” Elrond intently untangled the mess Glorfindel had made of the silken ribbon.

Blue eyes glared at the Peredhel. “This is nothing more than a farce.”

Elrond raised a classic brow. “Political matches are all too common.”

“Oh just wait till its your turn,” Glorfindel mumbled. “And white is not my color.”

“It suits you better than you know; you are most becoming.” He deftly finished off the lacing at Glorfindel’s chest.

The golden Lord peered down at himself critically. “Shouldn’t that, uh, be a little higher?”

“Of course not,” Elrond said stepping back to survey his handiwork. “You’re too handsome to hide behind all these clothes,” he said running a teasing finger from the hollow of Glorfindel’s throat to the V of his robes at the center of his chest. “Now, the hair,” Elrond proclaimed with a wave toward the stool before the mirror.

Glorfindel continued his grumbling, but took the indicated seat. “Just something simple, Elrond.”

“Of course,” the half-Elf willingly agreed, taking up a hairbrush from the nearby dresser. “Something simple for the groom.”

“The groom?” Glorfindel asked as Elrond began untangling the golden tresses. “What does that make him? The bride? This is ridiculous. Who ever heard of two male elves being wed? If we were in love – just two merchants’ sons in love – you can bet no one would permit such a bond, but when the upper echelons demand this house be united with that house, this union shall benefit this land, so-and-so should marry what’s-his-name, then – THEN – anything becomes possible. Gondolin must unite with Mirkwood. Why, I’m sure I don’t know. And worst of all is this Elf I am to marry.”

“You have not even met him,” Elrond protested.

“You mistake my meaning entirely,” Glorfindel was quick to respond. “It’s bad enough that you are right: I have not even met him. Worst of all, WORST of ALL, Elrond, I am old. I have lived a good life and a long and a full and a generous one. I have had my share of adventures and am content to be tied down, but this youngest nephew of Thranduil’s . . . Elrond he is not even an adult, he has less than ninety years and is barely old enough to comprehend what the hell is expected of this. Of us.” Glorfindel’s shoulders slumped and he bowed his head, unconscious of the new braids falling to veil his face. “Is this lad to be forever tied to an outdated warrior? His life shall not be a free one.”

“That is the price to be paid,” Elrond agreed. “That is his fate and yours. That is what shall be.”

Glorfindel looked up to see himself in the mirror, tear-stained cheeks flushed with emotion, blue eyes bright with fear, golden braids and long, free tresses falling over shoulders that gleamed with diamonds and pearls, the loosely tied ribbons to his glittering white robes open, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin at his torso. The hands clasped before him were strong and callused. His full lips were parted in astonishment. “I have not cried in . . .”

Elrond knelt beside him and turned Glorfindel’s head to face him. The half-Elf’s long, pale fingers wiped away the wetness at Glorfindel’s high cheeks. “Come. It is time.”

***

Glorfindel and Elrond moved slowly down the corridor, robes trailing ivory and ebony behind them. Glorfindel’s wry voice whispered, “You look as though you are dressed for a funeral.”

“And the look on your face would uphold that statement, Glorfindel. You yourself look as if you’re heading for the gallows. You need not appear so intimidating. In fact, I think you ought to calm yourself at once, lest you frighten the poor lad out of his wits.”

“What did you say his name was again?”

“Erestor.”

***

Legolas held up a sprig of lilac.

“I think not,” Erestor told him, looking at Legolas in the mirror where the golden-haired Prince stood above the seated youth, black braid in hand.

“But the lavender with bring out the, uh, the blush of your cheeks.”

“There is little you might do to improve upon my appearance and well you know it,” Erestor said staidly, his paler than usual hands tightly clasped in his lap, the knuckles turning white.

Legolas smiled and bent to kiss the top of Erestor’s black hair.

Erestor’s dark eyes widened as he shrunk away from the sign of affection. “What was that for?!” he asked, his voice belying his nervousness.

“An ill-conceived attempt to sooth your frazzled nerves?”

“My nerves,” Erestor was quick to retort, “are not frazzled. I have nerves of steel.”

Legolas grinned, his beautiful face made more so for the expression, bright blue eyes alight with mischief as he still met the younger Elf’s eyes through the mirror. “On the yard or on the podium, I agree entirely with your . . . nerves. But this is your wedding and you cannot hide yourself from me, my friend.”

“Legolas,” Erestor suddenly declared with never-before-heard emotion in his voice as he stood from the plush stool, ivory robes collecting about him as he turned to face the Prince. “I would have you know something this day, before we are parted.”

Standing tall, lean as a willow but strong as a mountain, Legolas regarded him now with a serious expression.

Erestor took a step closer, never failing to meet the Prince’s curious gaze. “I shall miss you, Legolas. And I am proud to call you ‘friend.’ But after my father passed from these shores, your family took me in as one of your own, and you have long been a brother to my heart.” Erestor faltered in his words and took a breath to calm himself. “And I would ask for the privilege to call you such.”

Legolas was near tears himself as he embraced the dark-haired Elf. “It would be a honor to call you ‘brother,’ Erestor.”

***

Erestor and Legolas moved slowly down the corridor, robes trailing ivory and ebony behind them. Erestor’s voice was a mere whisper. “They say he is a fierce and powerful warrior, a proud and noble Lord.”

“I have not heard it said otherwise,” Legolas wisely agreed, fighting with the long robes he was not accustomed to.

“They say he likes his drink heavy and his lovers loose.”

Legolas did not deny it. “That is, on occasion, what they say.”

“They say his eyes are like pools of liquid sky in a face of golden beauty reminiscent of the sun failing on a spring evening with hair the color of melting honey, and over all with a form to rival any god’s.”

“He is not unpleasant to look upon,” was all Legolas would say of the subject.

“They say he is older than Arda and wise as a basketful of harsh winters.”

“‘A basketful of harsh winters?’” Legolas said, laughing. “Who says such a thing?”

“They say he is a warrior to rival the foulest beasts of Mordor or the fiercest of all Elven fighters,” Erestor persisted.

Legolas laid a hand on Erestor’s shoulder to stop him and turned the young Elf to face him. “Erestor,” he said with a slight laugh. “He is many things, but he is also just an Elf, like you and I.”

Legolas smiled reassuringly and again began the slow march down the long corridor. Erestor shook his head and murmured to himself, “I don’t think he shall be anything like you or I.”

***

Galadriel smiled at the two Elves before her. “Everything is prepared?”

They bowed. “Yes, my Lady.”

“Then, Lord Elrond, fetch the Lord Glorfindel. And you, Legolas. Bring Erestor to us. You know where we meet.”

The bowed again and departed at opposite sides of the room.

***

A large party of Elves had gathered in the meadow, bright robes under the noonday sun flashing red and gold, black and grey, blue and yellow and brown. Galadriel waited serenely beneath the lilac blossoms, her silver gown gossamer light over a willowy form.

Gil-galad nudged his friend. “She is beautiful, no?”

Celeborn blushed. “Stop it.”

“But you cannot deny she defies the brilliance of Arien herself, even on a day such as this.”

Celeborn could not tear his eyes from the Elf maiden with golden curls and milky white arms. His voice was a halting rumble. “I deny nothing.”

Gil-galad’s bright laugh rung over the flowered meadow, a remarkable place near the shore, far enough that the ocean could not be seen, but near enough that the sound of the sea continuously folding in upon itself could be heard on the breeze and the salty ocean smell filled the open field. It was a field full of flowers, little starry elanor blanketing the bright green grasses like a carpet of gold, accented by tiny blue forget-me-nots, and the whole place was ringed by high bushes of lilacs: purple, lavender, and white. Beyond the lilacs bloomed mallorn trees, tall and leafy and blossoming a pale, pale pink. The petals had just begun falling that morning, and so the meadow was like a clearing in winter when the largest, wettest snowfall begins in giant flakes of white, only now the large mallorn petals fell on the coolest of early summer days and young children near the lilacs danced in the petal-fall.

Legolas pushed Erestor forward, beyond the ring of lilacs. “They’re waiting,” he whispered, not unkindly.

Erestor stopped, as though his feet were glued to the spot, but he nodded and Legolas let him collect himself a moment before the dark Elf finally took a step forward and moved gracefully over the green grass and golden elanor and indigo forget-me-nots and pale, pale pink mallorn petals. Ivory robes layered in pearls and opals trailed behind as bare feet traversed the meadow, a sea of beautiful Elven faces turned toward him. Erestor stared resolutely at the patch of ground his feet would next occupy.

Legolas remained steadfast beside and just a little behind him. Before they reached the crowd, Erestor carefully whispered, “Where is he?”

“He will enter in a moment,” Legolas assured him in his princely, purring voice and they moved into the colorful crowd, which readily parted before them. Erestor and Legolas passed down the aisle that readily closed behind them until they reached the canopy. Four white branches had been lodged in the earth and a white canopy of silk edged with lace hung from them like a tent. Galadriel stood behind the small canopy, smiling regally at them both.

Legolas and Erestor bowed respectfully and Legolas stepped to the left side. The raven black robes dragged the mallorn petals after him; an exceptionally large one, no smaller than his palm, landed on his shoulder and the Prince smiled before gently brushing it away.

Erestor glanced dolefully up at the lace-trimmed canopy, being steadily weighted down by the collecting mallorn petals. The sky was cool and clear and bright. The sea was on the wind and the flowers were beautiful. There could be no better day for a celebration. He tried to smile at Galadriel. She grinned back, her face more pure and clear than any he had seen.

He glanced aside to the Prince, who smiled and nodded reassuringly at him. “He’ll be here in just a moment,” Legolas promised in a whisper as a young maiden stepped up behind Erestor. She carried a white banner like a falling tapestry attached to a pole. She held the embroidered banner beside him to his right, so as to shield him from his soon-to-be spouse.

Erestor closed his eyes at all the ridiculous ceremony of it all. He listened carefully to the whispers around him.

***

Glorfindel stopped, peering through the dense lilacs.

“Well go ahead,” Elrond said, prodding at his back, “And stop spying. You won’t see him until it is time. And the time is near.”

Glorfindel shuddered.

“I am with you, my friend,” Elrond assured him.

The Elves entered the meadow, their bare feet cushioned by the thick grass and many flowers. Glorfindel marveled at the sight of the falling petals. “I’ve not seen the Mallorn Drop in centuries,” he admitted in a quiet murmur as they walked sedately across the field. “It is beyond speech,” he marveled as a giant petal passed by him.

Then he turned his face from the sky to see the many grinning faces. He smiled serenely back as they parted before him, and he and Elrond passed through the crowd. He could see the canopy in the distance. He could see the white banner.

He looked to his feet and let Elrond guide him to his place beside the banner. He wished he could see the other, the one behind the banner to his left. But he looked up and Galadriel stood before him, ever young and full of cold loveliness. Beside him, Elrond bowed and Glorfindel did the same.

The mallorn petals fell. They were a pale, pale pink.

Galadriel smiled. “Welcome. People of Gondolin and Mirkwood, Lorien and Lindon and beyond. Welcome all. Welcome to this glorious day in this place of light and to this union of two of our peoples. Glorfindel of Gondolin and Erestor of Mirkwood. We are here today to unite two Elves and two lands, the people of the cliffs and the people of the caves. Gondolin and the Greenwood.” Galadriel beckoned them forward.

Erestor stepped beneath the canopy, leaving the barrier of the banner behind him. The sun was not in his eyes. The grass was soft beneath his feet. The robes were heavy. Galadriel was beautiful beyond comprehension. A presence was beside him.

Glorfindel stepped beneath the canopy. There was no wall between them. He was glad now that Elrond had not laced his robes all the way up to his neck, as he was having some difficulty breathing. The canopy swayed gently. There was a dark splotch to his left, but he did not turn his head to see it.

The banner-bearer stepped away, and Elrond and Legolas stood together just outside the canopy in their dark black robes. They nodded respectfully to one another.

Galadriel met Glorfindel’s worried eyes and smiled. She met Erestor’s fearful eyes and grinned. She nodded to them.

Erestor felt ashamed. He was on the left. The place of the bride. Is that what they were making him? The woman? He turned to his right.

Glorfindel felt regretful. This was not right. This was not a marriage, but a scheme. He turned to face left.

Erestor made no move, no noise. He just looked.

Glorfindel regarded the young Elf across from him.

Erestor felt nearly incapable of speech. His breath left him and he felt faint, even a little nauseous. A breeze blew. Glorfindel had golden hair and it was the color of melted honey. He had eyes like the sky, blue and beautiful and distant, beyond reach. Ivory robes inlaid with jewels lent the Lord an ethereal air, heavenly and pure. He was tall, broad-shouldered. Big, Erestor thought. He was big all over. He was beautiful.

Glorfindel tried not to stare. But he couldn’t help it really. The youth was short, shorter by far than himself. Was Erestor truly so young? Was he not yet done growing? But he appeared the full growth of an Elf, with strong features and delicate eyes. His hair was black. Glorfindel wanted to laugh as the phrase came to him: black as raven’s wings at midnight. How absurd, how romantically sophomoric. It was just black, and woven into a complex pile of braids like his own. Ivory robes fit him closely; the young Elf looked virginal and innocent. The eyes were dark and deep and young. Erestor was, undeniably, a beauty.

Galadriel spoke. The words rushed by, unheard by the pair. Words of peace and unity and love.

Galadriel cleared her throat. She had said something important. They vaguely recalled what was being asked of them. They each raised their left hands.

Glorfindel was nervous. He licked his lips.

Glorfindel’s tongue was pink and wet, Erestor thought as icy fingers seemed to run up his spine. A child laughed in the distance.

Elrond stepped forward. He pushed Glorfindel’s hand down until it rested upon Erestor’s.

Warm.

Warm hands gently clasped one another. They could feel the others’ trembling.

More words were spoken. Galadriel’s voice was a tripping brook. Elrond laid a blue ribbon over their hands. She spoke. “Let love bind thee in truth.” Glorfindel suppressed a snort. Legolas laid a red ribbon over their hands. “Let love bind thee in passion.” Erestor suppressed a blush. Galadriel laid a white ribbon over their hands. “Let love bind thee, as our peoples and lands are now bound.” She tied the white ribbon about their hands. She tied it tight. “Let love keep thee forever and beyond.”

The sea-salt air blew. Glorfindel’s hair waved about his face. Erestor’s dark locks moved with the breeze. Their heavy robes were hardly ruffled. The mallorn petals fell around the canopy. A bird called in the distance.

“Now, you are one, Glorfindel and Erestor. Bound in heart and soul and body.”

Galadriel gently untied the white ribbon, which was actually two ribbons tied together. Now, she undid the knot and tied the white ribbons about each wrist like a bracelet. Elrond took the red ribbon and tied it into Glorfindel’s hair, making a swift braid near his left ear. Legolas took the blue ribbon and tied it into Erestor’s hair, quickly braiding it into a lock of hair by his right ear.

“The rings.”

Elrond placed a mithril ring in Glorfindel’s right hand. The exterior of the ring was smooth as pearls, but the inside was embossed with Elvish letters in gold.

Legolas gave a ring to Erestor, who took it in his right hand. The ring was the same.

Glorfindel gently took Erestor’s left hand and slid the ring onto his finger. “In perfect love and perfect trust, I wed thee.” His voice was cold.

Erestor returned the favor, sliding the ring onto Glorfindel’s left hand. His voice was soft. “In perfect love and perfect trust, I wed thee.”

Silence reigned again, but for the shifting of the sea and the call of the birds and the gentle fluttering of pale, pale pink petals.

Galadriel smiled mischievously. “A kiss is traditional.”

Erestor bowed his head. He could not hide the blush this time.

It was awkward, the way his face was turned down. Glorfindel sort of bent over, and sought Erestor’s mouth. He kissed the corner of that thin line.

Their lips were warm and dry.

“Go in peace.”

Glorfindel turned to face the people and offered his arm to the one beside him. Erestor gently clasped the elbow. He could feel the muscle beneath the thick fabric.

The people cheered and parted like waves before them as Glorfindel escorted Erestor through the laughing, clapping, happy Elves. They threw lilacs before their feet and rose petals in their hair.

Elrond and Legolas linked their arms and smiled at one another. They followed. The traditions were not yet done.

They crossed the meadow and passed through the lilacs. They walked beneath the mellyrn and the pale, pale petals still fell like gentle rain upon them. The people followed, Galadriel first of them all.

They walked through the forest. They walked to the sea.

The sand was hot beneath their feet on the shore where dune folded upon dune in tawny shades of yellow and gold and white. The sea was blue.

The sky was blue, and the gulls circled above, dipping down to snatch silver glinting fish from the white-tipped waves.

Glorfindel and Erestor walked across the sand, the trains of their robes dragging in the sand and covering their footprints. They passed over the hot sand to the wet sand where the edge of the sea lapped in foamy kisses at the shore.

Elrond and Legolas broke the link of their arms and they stood just before the water’s edge.

Galadriel followed Glorfindel and Erestor, who proceeded into the sea until the water reached just above their knees and pulled at the already heavy fabric of their gowns.

Thankfully, the sea was calm, but as it was Erestor still had difficulty keeping his balance as the waves pulled at his garments. Glorfindel steadied him, gripping his upper arm. His hand was strong.

Galadriel followed them into the sea and grinned. The sun shone upon her face and her smile was dazzling. She unclasped the silver brooch in the shape of a swan at her throat. She handed it to Glorfindel.

The golden Lord took the pin and stabbed his thumb until the red lifeblood swelled up in a glittering drop like a tiny ruby. He handed the brooch to Erestor, who pierced his own thumb without a qualm. He passed back the brooch and Galadriel stepped from the sea, the wet silver clinging to her calves.

Glorfindel and Erestor gripped hands and pressed their thumbs together. “Blood of my blood,” said the Lord.

“Flesh of my flesh,” Erestor answered.

They spoke together, “We are one in blood, flesh, and body.”

Then Glorfindel took Erestor’s wrist and untied the white ribbon. Erestor returned the favor and they cast them into the sea. They unbound the red and blue from one another’s silken tresses and those ribbons joined the two, shorter white ones floating on the breast of the ocean.

They watched the silken ribbons.

Glorfindel spoke. “Sprit of my spirit.”

Erestor answered, “Heart of my heart.”

They spoke together. “We are one in spirit, heart, and soul.”

Glorfindel took Erestor’s hands in his.

Erestor knew what came next. Glorfindel would speak. He would say, ‘Come now, my wife, and share my life.’ And he would respond accordingly. Then, Glorfindel did speak.

“Come now, my love, and share my life.”

“Come now, my love, and share my life,” Erestor echoed. Holding hands, they stepped from the sea, dragging wet sand behind them as they passed beyond the dunes and into the weeping mellyrn and to the castle.


	3. No Shit?!

“You’re shitting me.”

Elrond glared at Elrohir’s use of language. “I shit you not.”

Legolas spoke. “T’was Galadriel and Elrond and the Council who declared it: Gondolin and Mirkwood must be bound. Times were not hard then, but they had fear for the future. There were whispers even then of the evils that were brewing and fear was a new undercurrent in our society. Erestor had been raised beside me, even if I was three times older. At three hundred, I still considered myself young.”

“Which you were,” Elrond felt obliged to add.    
Legolas ignored him. “But Erestor was eighty-six. Eighty-six when Thranduil decided to betroth him to the Lord of Gondolin. My father had no daughters, no nieces; neither did Glorfindel. There was no one else. It was either Erestor or myself. And Thranduil would not part with his son. I would have married him; I considered it my duty, but my father would not hear of it. And so he damned a child into a marriage he had no say in. I was not pleased.”

Elrond hid a grin. He murmured, “Indeed, you were furious.”

Legolas glared.

Elrohir looked to his father and Elrond explained, “The young Prince stormed about the halls of his father in an outrage. I think he hoped to change Thranduil’s decision, but the Council could not be naysayed. And Legolas himself asked to be the one to deliver the news to one he counted as a brother.”

The fair Elf nodded. “I entered his rooms; I remember it as if it were yesterday. Erestor was always wiser than his years. He knew storms were brewing, but until I arrived at his door he never knew how closely he was to be involved.” Legolas shook his head in regretful remembrance. “And I said to him, ‘The Council has declared a bonding.’ Erestor was no fool. He asked me, ‘Who am I to marry?’ And I told him. Glorfindel of Gondolin.”

Elrond looked to his friend. It was clear that these memories plagued Legolas greatly.

“He didn’t argue, nor cry. He did not ask for explanations. He did not rant as I would have. He turned away from me and went to his closet. I asked him, ‘What are you doing?’ He replied. ‘Packing. For the move to Gondolin.’ As far I as I know, he never cried. At least not that I could see.”

“You have said it and I have said it – as have others – and I must say it again,” Elrond told his son. “Erestor has always been wise beyond his years. And he hid his emotions well: I blame Thranduil for that.” Legolas said nothing. “Thranduil never was an open sort of person, and Erestor saw more than most. He accepted this as his duty, even though he was still counted as a child by his years. He was no child, not really. He was done growing; at least, he’d never be any taller. And he has only grown wiser. I believe he was the only choice the Council or Thranduil could have made.”

Elrohir looked at the two old Elves, his father – a mighty Lord – and the Prince Legolas. “But what happened next?”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Legolas in his clear voice.

“They went out of the sea and through the forest to the castle. What castle? Where was all this exactly? And then what happened?”

“The castle at the Gulf of Lhun, at the Havens,” Elrond explained. “Only a part of it still stands today. As for what happened after that, I cannot say.”

“Nor I,” Legolas spoke. “No one saw Glorfindel or Erestor until the following day, as was traditional.”

“Speaking of tradition,” Elrohir broke in. “I’ve attended my share of handfastings. And the part with the canopy I have witnessed many times, but that second part: the walk to the sea, the ribbons coming off, the sharing of blood. I’ve never even heard of that. What was it?”

Legolas shook his head and his eyes were angry. Elrond spoke. “It was a political act made spiritual.”   
“I don’t understand.”

Legolas told him, “It was regarded as a public consummation of the marriage.”

“Consummation? Oh. You mean so they didn’t have to . . . I see.”

The Prince persisted, “This whole thing began with purely political motivations, as that was all that was needed to bind Gondolin and Mirkwood in friendly association. But someone,” he said with a pointed glace to the half-Elven Lord, “demanded that the marriage be ‘real’ and that their souls be bound. So they were. They are bound as surely as your parents are, as your grandparents.”

Elrond expounded on his friend’s ideals at the time, “Glorfindel saw the whole thing as a charade; he really felt as though Erestor was being forced into an atrocious situation. But most of all, Glorfindel was furious at what the marriage had become. It was arranged with very little say on his part and in the end it became this fairytale wedding with pretty flowers and pretty words. He was terrified at what that would mean to Erestor and how he would interpret it, but Erestor knew it for what it was, and what both of them thought it should have been.”

Legolas picked up where Elrond left off, “A private meeting in a Council room requiring nothing more than a few signatures. But Elrond and Galadriel and Gil-galad remained adamant: the binding must be whole and complete: spiritual and physical. That’s why the blood. Why the sea. They were irrevocably bound.”

“And no one wanted rings,” Elrond added, “least of all Glorfindel, but Galadriel was insistent upon the mithril rings. And as far as I know, neither Elf has ever willingly removed them. It shows a surprising degree of fidelity to a relationship that – as far as I know – has never been any more consummated than what we witnessed that day.”

Alight with curiosity and hunger for knowledge, Elrohir was leaning forward, his eyes wide, “Yes, but what happened next?!”

Elrond shrugged. “You’ll have to ask them, for no one else can say.”

***

Elrohir banged his fist upon Erestor’s door. “Erestor! Let me in this instant!”

The Counselor quickly opened the door, dark eyes flashing. “What is it? What has happened?”

“You married Glorfindel!”

Erestor stared at him. It could be, that somewhere, crickets chirped. “I know that.”

“My father, and Prince Legolas too, they told me all about it.”

“Did they.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, about the handfasting and the traditions and the politics.”

“Yes, and?”

“And what happened next?” Elrohir needed to know, his gray eyes wide and desperate.

Erestor sighed. “Come in, Elrohir.”

***

“. . . And you walked out of the ocean, dragging the wet sand behind you and you passed through the forest to the castle at Forlond. And then what?”

Erestor had listened with fascination to the tale Elrohir had been told. “That is just right,” he murmured. “That is exactly what happened.”

“How long ago was it?” Elrohir whispered.

“A long time,” Erestor answered him.

Elrohir pouted. “But then what?”

“You wish me to tell you?” Erestor asked dubiously.

“Yes! Is it so hard to believe? I have to know what happened.”

“All right. Then, I suppose I shall have to tell you.”


	4. What Came Next

Glorfindel and Erestor did not break the hold of their hands on the trek to the castle. They walked slowly, content in the terrible silence between them as the gritty sand beneath their feet became soft grass became sun-warmed stone. The Gulf of Lhun sang with the sounds of the Sea, but they turned to the old castle and mounted the high steps and passed through the great wooden doors. Here, the stones were cool beneath their aching feet, but they did not stop.

Glorfindel led the way up the stairs and down the long corridors until they reached a suite. Then, they broke the link of their hands and opened the tall, dark double doors and passed into the wide chamber. “This is to be our home,” the golden Lord said, “Until I return to Gondolin, before the season is done.”

Erestor nodded. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Please call me Glorfindel.”

“Yes, Glorfindel.”

The suite was a cheery room with a large fireplace and several comfortable bits of furniture lying about and a severe desk in the corner. Glorfindel gestured to the left. “Your room is through those doors.” He pointed right. “This is my chamber.”

Erestor nodded.

“I believe all your things have already been brought, as have mine.”

“Okay.”

They stood in the room in silence.

They glanced at one another. 

And then quickly looked away.

“I did not approve of this match,” Glorfindel urged himself to say. “You are too young.”

Erestor nodded. “I would not change my age to suit the whims of others, even if I could,” Erestor told him. “But as it is, we are both here to fulfill a duty. And I am willing to do my part, as I hope you are.”

Glorfindel stood speechless a moment. “Well spoke.” He looked about the room in thought. Then he began to wander, touching the various chairs and books as the ring on his finger glinted in the sunlight from the tall windows. It was obvious he was a very tactile person. “Tell me of yourself, Erestor, that I might better know you.”

“I was raised as a son of the King in a noble land and have pursued the knowledge of books all my life, though given a sword or lute, I do believe I could hold my own, though not against one such as you. When Legolas came to me telling me of our betrothal, I did not quite know what to think. I still do not know what is expected of me, my Lord.”

“Glorfindel,” the Lord corrected. “I don’t suppose I do either. If we were to ask the Council, they might tell us all our duties are now fulfilled.” Finally, Glorfindel turned to him. “I do not wish to tie you to me, Erestor. Consider yourself free to do with your life as you will. Go back home to Mirkwood with your family and your books. I do not want you to consider yourself bound to my will.”

“But I am tied to you,” Erestor softly protested. “I feel it in my blood, and now I wonder if you do as well.”

Blue eyes blinked, meeting shining black pools. “I feel it,” Glorfindel whispered.

“And thus we are bound.” Erestor met his eyes calmly and did not turn away. “This is the way it is now. And I would not willingly be parted from you. With your allowance, I would follow you to Gondolin and do right by you, my Lord.”

“Glorfindel.”

“Glorfindel. I do not want to burden you. But I write a fine hand and have a head for languages. I could be useful to you in Gondolin. Besides, it would not be seemly for me to do otherwise. We are considered married,” Erestor told him, as if he needed reminding.

Glorfindel did not break the contact of their eyes. “You would not be a burden to me, Erestor. Consider yourself welcome in my home when we arrive.”

“And in your life?” Erestor cautiously asked. “Am I welcome there as well?”

“Aye,” Glorfindel answered. “My bonded one shall always be welcome in my life.”

######################################

“Okay,” said Elrohir, oblivious to the heavy weight wearing down the Counselor. “Then what?”

Erestor turned to the young Peredhel, his dark eyes pained. “Go ask Glorfindel, Elrohir. I am too weary for more storytelling.”

Elrohir stood. “Okay. And . . . thank you, Erestor.” The young Elf turned to go, but then he halted and turned back. “Did you ever stop calling him ‘my lord?’”

Erestor sadly smiled and only then did Elrohir notice the wealth of sorrow in those deep eyes. “No.”

***

“Glorfindel! Glorfindel!”

A golden head popped up from behind the door to Asfaloth’s stall. “Elrohir, why what is the matter, boy?”

“You and Erestor!” Elrohir answered, sprinting up the empty aisle of the stables. “Papa and Legolas told me of your wedding, and then Erestor said…”

Glorfindel listened wide-eyed as the youth went on. Tears gathered in his deep blue eyes and Glorfindel surreptitiously wiped them away. Elrohir had ceased his tale. “I’m sorry, Elrohir, what?”

“I want to know what happened after that.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Will you tell me?”

“I suppose so.”

##################################

Glorfindel and Erestor lived in the castle at Forlond for three months in relative peace. They edged around one another warily throughout the days and their nights were lonely. 

One day, Glorfindel spoke to Erestor. The young Elf was in his room, sitting at a finely appointed desk perpendicular to a large window that looked out to the sea. Glorfindel stood opposite the desk. And he spoke. Erestor’s eyes widened a little more at every word when his mate addressed him: “Erestor. If you want to seek out a lover, then by all means, consider yourself free to do so. . . .Unless you already have one. In which case . . . carry on.”

Erestor stared, dumbfounded. “But . . .”

“We are wed, I know,” Glorfindel said with only a small amount of exasperation. “But you and I are hardly matched for anything more than companionship in our lives and I would deny you neither pleasure nor love in your life.”

Erestor stood from his seat and answered with what Glorfindel was becoming sure was his usual detached wisdom, “I appreciate the sentiment, my Lord.” Glorfindel had not yet broken Erestor of the habit of addressing him thusly. “But I have no wish to pursue love or pleasure; I have never desired either and I doubt I ever will. And also, I am an Elf of my word.” He held his left hand just a little higher, turning it so the sun’s light glinted off the mithril band. “As long as I wear your ring, I shall not betray my oath to you.”

Once again, Glorfindel was struck speechless, a far too common occurrence when it came to his young spouse.

Erestor again sat himself in his chair, always graceful and ever elegant in his movements. He took up his quill once more, but his eyes sought Glorfindel’s when he spoke again. “As for love and pleasure, do not look to me to deny you. You are free, my Lord, to do as you will, if indeed it is my place to give such freedom.”

Glorfindel stared, dumbfounded. 

Erestor returned to his work, ignorant of the eloquent and profound words he had preached. When Glorfindel spoke, Erestor watched the golden Lord carefully. “I would honor you no less than you honor me.” He was all professionalism now, his posture tall and proud, his voice calm and distant, his eyes focused somewhere over Erestor’s left shoulder. “I shall hold your ring as precious as you hold mine, and never betray the bonds of love and trust we swore. Good day.”

If Erestor made any reaction, Glorfindel could not know what it was, as the golden Lord turned on his heel and left.

####################################

“And after that? What happened after that?”

Glorfindel sighed and dropped his head to his hand. “Go ask your father.”

***

“Dad!” Elrohir knocked fervently on his father’s office door. “Dad! Can I come in?!”

“Come,” Elrond said curiously.

Elrohir burst in, unsurprised to find Legolas seated across from Elrond. “Good!” said Elrohir, immediately taking a chair. “So they got married. And what was happening between them? I mean what was really going on?”

Elrond and Legolas exchanged a look.


	5. Married Bliss

Those were good days. Rumors of evil there were yes, but most people lived in a blissful time where concerns were few and joys were many. For as long as he was able, the Prince Legolas stayed with Erestor, to support his brother in these times of uncertainty for him, and Gil-galad’s herald stayed also, keeping close company with Glorfindel in his new station: marriage.

The four spent much time together, lazing the days away on the shore and sharing picnics in the wilderness. Legolas and Elrond watched their friends closely, but Glorfindel and Erestor remained ever wary in one another’s company.

One day, before Glorfindel was to return to Gondolin taking his unchosen mate with him, Elrond took the golden Lord aside and spoke with him. “Long have you been my close friend, Glorfindel.”

“I sense this is the beginning of a heart-to-heart. You needn’t soften me up, Elrond, though I am your friend. Say what you would and be done with it.”

“Nothing is ever so simple in life,” Elrond told him. “And I was wondering at your intentions regarding Erestor.”

“Intentions?” Glorfindel queried. “I have none.”

“As I feared,” Elrond answered. “What shall he be to you, then? Some gift you take out to show off on special occasions? Will he be your servant? Your librarian? What will you do with him?”

“Do with him? I shall do nothing. He will have free reign in the realm as I do, and in my home. He knows I value his skills and I do not doubt he shall be the best diplomat this world has seen.”

“And your personal relationship?”

“Our personal relationship is our own.”

Elrond sighed dramatically. “Glorfindel, you must talk to someone. Who, if not me, will you confide in?”

Giving in, Glorfindel sat upon a fallen tree in the forest they had wandered to. “In truth, I do not know what I shall do, Elrond. You should have seen him. In those first moments alone together.” Glorfindel sighed and bent, scooping up several stones from the rich dark brown earth. “Erestor has a remarkable ability to conceal himself, in many ways. He is intelligent and I dare say cunning. His words are never thoughtless and his beauty undeniable. But being bound, we have a certain sense of one another. I feel it will grow with time. And for the last three months, I sense how incredibly frightened he is of me. Behind the polite formality it was obvious the poor thing was terrified out of his wits. I do not know why or what I can do to alleviate it. I . . . frighten him.”

***

Legolas took Erestor’s hand. “You are frightened of him.”

Erestor glared. “I am no such thing.” He looked down. And then back up. “He intimidates me. A little.”

“A lot,” Legolas corrected. “I have known you since birth, Erestor, and you are not all that old. You cannot hide from me.”

“Nor from him,” Erestor admitted. “Our way will be hard, Legolas. I trust him immeasurably, even though I do not know him well.”

“Do you think you may come to love him?” asked the Prince.

Erestor’s smile hid a tremulous sorrow. “I do not think so.”

####################################

Elrohir watched and listened to Legolas in fascination.

“I do not know if he believed his own words, or perhaps if he even lied to me,” the Prince continued. “I lost a part of my friendship with Erestor that day when the mallorn blossoms fell. I lost a part of his trust. He only has so much he can give, you see. But now he has extended that trust to you, Elrohir. I hope you keep it well.”

“I will,” Elrohir promised, standing. “I will seek him out now to tell him so.”

Elrond watched his son leave. “What has that boy stirred up?”

“I don’t know,” Legolas answered. He was smiling.

***

Again, Erestor answered the demanding knock on his door.

Elrohir burst in and took his chair.

Erestor stared at him.

“I will not betray this trust.”

Curious, the Counselor tilted his head. “I never thought you would, Elrohir.” He allowed himself a small smile. “I suppose you’d like to trust me a little more?”

Elrohir smirked.

###################################

The time came for Glorfindel to return to his people. He and the few men and women who had joined their Lord in Forlond packed up their belongings and left. Erestor went with them.

The journey was uneventful; much time was spent worrying about proper food and bedding and caring for the fires and animals.

Eventually, they arrived at the gates of Gondolin and passed within to the land of rivers and cliffs and short, flowery meadows. Glorfindel’s House was a cliffside cave, though cave it could not truly be called, having been carved into beautiful shapes, all flowers and twisting vines on walls and ceilings, and full of the richness of a good life.  
 The day after his return, Glorfindel walked on the upper circle outside his House and greeted his people, who welcomed him with cheer and praise. And then he held out his arm and Erestor took it, and Erestor was presented to the people as ‘Lord of Gondolin.’ And the people of Gondolin welcomed him with cheer and praise.

For many years did the Lords of Gondolin live in the cliffside cave, often visited by their friends, Elrond Peredhel and Legolas Thranduilion. As far as anyone knew, and it was the truth, Erestor and Glorfindel slowly grew comfortable in one another’s company. They worked together to uphold the realm of Gondolin and the people loved their Lords equally. Erestor spent his days with visiting dignitaries while Glorfindel spent his days amongst his people, learning their cares and concerns. The nights were their own however, and they dined near every evening together, speaking sometimes of things of great import and sometimes of things not so great. Lord Erestor quickly learned the ins and outs of the politics of the world, and none spoke ill of him or his words. Lord Glorfindel never lacked for generosity, and none spoke ill of him or his deeds.

They lived for centuries in happiness.

Then, a great evil was released into the world, and there were none who did not suffer.

#####################################

“Evil?” asked Elrohir.

“I cannot speak of it,” Erestor told him. “The telling has already grown too much for my weary heart. Go and seek my husband, if you think you can persuade word from his mouth.”

Elrohir left his tutor, briefly resting a hand on the dark-clad shoulder before he departed.

***

Elrohir sought the bank of the Bruinen. Where the bend in the water wefted left and right and the overhanging rocks looked like the head of a stag. Glorfindel sat on the rocky shore and Elrohir sat beside him.

“Erestor told me a great evil was released into the world.”

“It is true,” Glorfindel told him. “There were none who did not suffer.”

##################################

It was true. Evil spread through the lands like a drop of poison in a river. None knew where its next victim would be. And the poison took over the land with terror to the east and fear to the north and painful anger to the growing south. Only in the west did hope shine, and it was not a bright hope.

The Elves of Middle Earth faced the evils they were charged with, and many lost their lives. The evils of Dol Guldur plagued the Greenwood, renamed Mirkwood. Those of Lothlorien kept to their home and few dared travel to or from the Golden Wood. The Harbors were far away. Gil-galad sought alliance with the Men of Gondor as the evils of Mordor grew.

Consumed with the troubles of their own lands and people, Legolas and Elrond lost almost all contact with their friends in Gondolin, but for the rare letter. Isolated as they were, those in Gondolin fell into an ideal of false security. But they were sorely mistaken. The evil came to their very door.

###################################

“Then what happened?”

Glorfindel looked his former pupil in the eye. “I died.”

***

“DAD!!!”

Elrond had the door open before Elrohir could charge right through it. “Do come in,” he invited after Elrohir had already taken three steps in.

He sat down and looked up. “He died.”

###################################

Glorfindel of Gondolin took down the Balrog, and the Balrog took him down too. The battle had been fierce. Many bodies of its warriors already littered Gondolin’s cliffs and meadows. 

Only two still fought the beast, forcing it up the side of the tallest cliffside. The pair of Elves were battle sore, their tattered hair in tangles and their tattered clothes in shreds. The Balrog’s fire had singed and burnt and their skin was flayed and crisped. A layer of soot covered everything in Gondolin, including the two lone warriors. One limped up the side of the cliff and the other’s right arm hung useless at his side. 

Erestor may not have been raised in the exercise yard, but he had spent centuries with Glorfindel, and it showed in his skill with a sword. The Lords of Gondolin fought to protect their lands and people. They fought till the end.

Both swords pierced the lava-like skin of the demon; howling, it was pitched off the cliff, wings flailing wildly as its shriek pierced the air.

Glorfindel huffed a sigh of relief, his blue eyes vibrant in his soot-covered face.

A hot claw impaled his shoulder. He screamed. The demon pulled him down, but Erestor was faster. Glorfindel dropped his sword and Erestor gripped his left hand. The dark-haired Elf fell to the ground, holding onto his mate with only one hand. Glorfindel screamed again when the claw was pulled out of his shoulder as the demon fell back, and he felt his life leaving him. Blue eyes glazed.

Erestor screamed. The demon made one last scramble for life, seizing Glorfindel and tearing him from Erestor’s grasp.  
 Erestor was left holding a mithril ring, all that he could hang on to when his nearly lifelong companion was ripped from him in a blaze of fire and shadow.

####################################

Tears fell from Elrohir’s eyes. “I knew he was . . . but I never realized,” he explained. “And Erestor, what must he have felt . . . Then what happened?”

Legolas smiled kindly at him. “There is no need for tears, little prince. They are alive and well. Perhaps if you think, you will remember why.”

Elrohir looked to his father. “It was you. You made them bond, you and Galadriel and Gil-galad.”  
 Elrond nodded. “It is true. T’was I who foresaw the fall of Glorfindel. T’was I who dreamt a dream of Erestor pulling him back. I convinced my contemporaries of the need for the marriage, and not only a marriage, but a bond. A bond to ensure one of two things.”

Legolas spoke what Elrond could not. “That Erestor’s strength would pull back his mate. Or that Glorfindel would take Erestor with him into death. We all put our faith in Erestor those many years ago when they were wed. And we were right.”

“But how?”

“Settle down, young one,” Erestor spoke as he emerged from the shadows, weary and seemingly weak. He joined the three Elves in Elrond’s office. “Long have these two desired to know, and now you as well. I shall tell you, since I shall never hear the end of it if I do not.”

###################################

Erestor stood, the ring in his hand. He walked. His leg had been skewered by an orc’s cruel spear and his hands burnt, his lungs scorched and his hope devastated. But still, he walked. He passed down the long roads he had climbed with Glorfindel beside him and though he was unarmed, all foul foes fled before him at the sight of his fell anger and despair. But still, a single glimmering of hope must have shown within him, for he continued on, weak in body but strong in spirit. From the tallest cliff down to the deepest valley where the long river ran. There, on the shore of the river, lay two bodies. The huge stinking carcass of the Balrog lay half in the water, and the steam rose from his heat in the cool water, laying a blanket of mist on the low valley, the rocky land scarred black with fire and worse from the battles that Gondolin had seen that day. 

But beside the steaming body of the evil demon lay another. Erestor saw first the waving, golden hair, yet undimmed by dirt or death. He rushed to Glorfindel’s side and fell to his knees, turning Glorfindel face up and pulling him into his lap.

He wept in his heart, knowing the body he held was lifeless, that Glorfindel’s spirit had fled, called to a different home far from Middle Earth. Erestor held Glorfindel’s broken body to his breast and sang out to any who could hear to return to him his beloved. In his hand he still gripped tight to Glorfindel’s ring. 

He opened his hand and looked down upon the mithril band. His tears fell upon it. He took Glorfindel’s left hand, and replaced the token of their bond and his tears fell on Glorfindel’s fair face, washing away the soot in streams of salty sorrow. When his tears ceased, he bent his head and kissed Glorfindel’s lips.

Breath filled Glorfindel’s lungs. His eyes opened and he saw Erestor’s own tear-stained face.

Erestor’s only words were, “They sent you back to me,” and he hugged Glorfindel tight.

################################

“I did not know that that was how it happened,” Glorfindel said.

Four Elves turned to the doorway to see the golden Lord standing there. “I did not know. But I can finish the story.”

Elrohir stood, offering his seat. Glorfindel sat beside Erestor. And he spoke.


	6. All Stories Come to an End

It was the bond that returned Glorfindel to life. From that moment Gondolin was finished. There was nothing left to return to or to fix. The land had been beaten and its people killed and chased away. There were others who needed help in the world, without rebuilding the land of cliffs and rivers and meadows. 

And though the political scheming that had wed them was now purposeless, Glorfindel and Erestor never parted company again. They remained steadfast companions, joining the Alliance of Elves and Men under Gil-galad’s command and reuniting with their old friend Elrond. And when Elrond was wed, they stood beside him, and when he left to found a haven in Imladris, they went with him. Glorfindel became his Captain and Erestor his Counselor. For they were wise in the ruling of a land, but wanted no more the title of Lord, though they could never truly be rid of such names.

Erestor never grew distant from Legolas, even if they saw one another rarely. And Glorfindel, Erestor, and Elrond grew close as any friends could be. They supported one another and were all extremely protective of Elrond’s new family.

But the years had passed and though Gondolin had not been forgotten, other deeds were, and the marriage of Glorfindel and Erestor was little more than a history note in the backs of the minds of those who had witnessed it.

Until Elrond’s young son, not truly so young anymore, became curious of the tale.

And now it is told.

#########################

“That’s it?” Elrohir asked, disbelieving. “But what about—”

“Elrohir,” Elrond interrupted, standing abruptly from his chair. “Go to the kitchens. We are all of us here and no one is supervising the cooks on the day of Equinox.”

Elrohir did not sulk, even if he wanted to. “All right. I will go.”

And he left them, looking back over his shoulder as he went.

Legolas looked to Erestor. “That is quite a story, my friends. And I think Elrohir is now the only one to know all of it.”

“Perhaps I will tell you what you want to know one day,” Erestor answered him, standing from his chair. “But not this day. I am wearied by more than I can say. Elrond, I regret that I cannot attend your Spring Feast tonight. I will see you all in the morning.”

Robes whispered on the floor as Erestor left them.

Legolas looked at Elrond looked at Glorfindel. “Well?” demanded the half-Elf after enough time had passed. “Aren’t you going to follow him?”

Glorfindel blinked. “You always were too smart for your own good, Elrond.” He stood and turned for the door.

“Tell him,” said Legolas. “You’re long overdue, both of you.”

Glorfindel could think of no response, except to slam the door lightly behind him.

***

Glorfindel went to his own rooms and passed through the door that connected Erestor’s chamber to his. The Chief Counselor sat at the window on a raised window seat, his legs tucked up before him, his arms wrapped loosely about his knees. His hair still fell in miserable tangles about his shoulders, though soft it undeniably was, and his dark robes gathered around him in falling waves of the deepest blue. Shining brown eyes watched the trees and the birds beyond the glass of his high window and tear tracks stained the pale face.

Glorfindel stood uncertain before the tapestry that had fallen back into place behind him. The greens of the woven art silhouetted him like a gray-clad hunter in a forest before he stepped haltingly forth, as if uncertain if he were welcome. His own hair was not fit to be seen and hung in loosely tangled waves about his flushing face. “Erestor,” his voice was ever his clear, ringing tenor. Beautiful. “Why have you wept?”

In a graceless move of timidity, Erestor wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. “I always weep this day.”

“You have hidden it well.”

Erestor made no answer, but when Glorfindel approached, he tucked his legs further up in silent invitation. Glorfindel sat upon the seat, looking at Erestor.

The golden Lord reached out for Erestor’s left hand. They both trembled and Erestor’s hand was cool in Glorfindel’s warmer one. “We never did take these off,” he observed, stroking the mithril ring on Erestor’s long finger.

“I never had any wish to,” Erestor told him.

“Odd, is it not,” Glorfindel suggested, “that we have kept oaths no longer needed, nor indeed remembered? Odd that we should remain bound to one another when we are not in love.”

“Odd indeed,” Erestor agreed, but his voice was choked and for the first time in his life, Glorfindel witnessed tears spilling from deep brown eyes.

“Erestor?”

“Odd that you should not see what has always been before you,” Erestor told him through his tears.

“What?” Glorfindel begged with confusion.

“Me,” Erestor answered. Now, he returned Glorfindel’s grip, taking the strong warrior’s hand in both of his own. He brought that hand to his lips and kissed Glorfindel’s wedding ring. “From the moment I saw you beneath the canopy of our handfasting I have loved you. I often thought it was the magic of the mallorn blossoms that affected me, or your incomparable beauty, or Galadriel’s charming words. But I could only fool myself for so long. I stood beneath the canopy and wore your ring and you kissed me. And I loved you. We walked to the sea and we bound ourselves for eternity and I loved you. We walked to the castle and we lived in wary comfort and I loved you. We lived and fought and you died and returned to me, and we battled the evils of the world and I stayed at your side and I loved you. And Elrohir came to me today with his questions and as I long as I have hidden it, I no longer can. I love you.”

Unbidden, tears spilled from Glorfindel’s sky-blue eyes. “Then it is well that I love you,” he replied. “Although in my foolish pride I never dreamt I would love one forced upon me. Or that he would return that love. Or that I would ever be so brave as to admit it.”

Erestor broke the grip of their hands and he covered his handsome face, turning away and laughing into his beautiful, long-fingered hands.

“Erestor?”

The dark Counselor pried himself out of his corner and stood. He spun about and looked to the ceiling and he laughed. He undid the clasp of his office robes and threw them aside.

“Um, Erestor, what are you doing?” Glorfindel licked his lips.

Erestor grinned wickedly and he slowly undid the tiny pearl buttons at his throat, working them loose all the way down his white under tunic. “My blood . . .” he told Glorfindel, “is your blood.” He let the tunic fall. “My flesh is your flesh.” He pulled off trousers and slippers until he stood naked. “My body is your body.”

“Erestor, I think you are trying to seduce me.”

Outside the birds were singing, but they did not hear it. Outside, the flowers were blooming, but they did not smell it. Outside the sun was shining, but they did not see it.

They saw only one another. For a moment in time, they were the only two people in the world.

Erestor raised a brow. “Trying?”

Glorfindel growled and stood. He rushed toward the other and enfolded Erestor in a strong embrace, seeking his lips for a proper kiss, full of heat and power and clashing teeth and awkward clumsiness. Oh, and there were eager, groping hands – maybe a little over exuberant as they left bruises behind them – but it was still perfect.

Glorfindel pulled back and framed Erestor’s happy face with his large hands. “My heart is your heart, Erestor.”

Erestor took those large hands in his own and brought them down between them. The Counselor leaned forward, standing on his toes, to bestow the softest of kisses on Glorfindel’s bruised lips.

They smiled.

Erestor wrapped his lean arms about Glorfindel’s neck and met his lips again, seeking closer contact.

Glorfindel eagerly granted him this and let his hands wander freely over bared flesh, flushing now with heat and pleasure.

Then Glorfindel broke the kiss and pulled away, and with a smirk and a laugh, he scooped Erestor up into his arms.

Erestor whooped at the indignity, but his howls soon turned to ringing laughter as Glorfindel fixed his grip under pale pink knees and strong shoulders and he twirled about with Erestor in his arms.

Then he strode across the room and threw Erestor onto the bed.

The younger Elf laughed as he bounced on the feather mattress.

His laughter quieted as he watched Glorfindel, who stood beside the bed, removing his clothes as fast as he could manage, baring an abundance of smooth, golden flesh over strong muscles. One of Erestor’s thoughts when he first saw Glorfindel came echoing back to him: big all over. That was for sure.

Erestor shivered when Glorfindel tossed aside the last of his garments and knelt on the edge of the bed, crawling toward him, those impossible muscles rolling under the golden skin in sinuous slow movements.

The dark Elf remained motionless as Glorfindel crawled right atop him, golden hair dragging across the flushing skin, and he looked straight down into wide, brown eyes swiftly growing black with desire. “We are one,” Glorfindel said, nearly breathless. “I could have chosen none better to share my life.”

“And now your bed?” Erestor asked, his ancient eyes hopeful.

Glorfindel smiled. “Yes.”

***

“Elrohir!”

The young Peredhel jumped when he father hissed his name.

“Come away from there this instant!” Elrond demanded in a whisper. Legolas stood behind Elrond, covering his not-so-princely smile with an elegant hand.

Elrohir slunk away from Erestor’s door and toward the pair of Elves. “I just wanted to make sure they were all right,” he told them in a defensive whisper.

“And are they?” Legolas asked, his eyes laughing.

Elrohir smirked. “I should think they are well beyond ‘all right.’”

Howls from beyond the door backed this answer and Elrond dragged his son away.  
 Legolas watched them go. Once Elrond and Elrohir rounded the distant corner, Legolas crept up to Erestor’s room to lay his pointed ear against the door and smile.

= = = = =

The end.


End file.
